Grandad's Green Flash Poem by Sailing to windward

We didn’t often take photos of you.
You took all the photos.
You were always behind the camera,
laughing and saying,
“cheese please Louise! ”, As we buried our legs
in the sand or cart wheeled in front of the lens.
On the few occasions someone did take a picture of you,
you used to look away in that affected,
“looking out to sea”, pose.

Often, at sunset, you’d stand
on the beach, in that same pose,
quietly looking out to the horizon,
with a steady face. Slowly smoothing
and stroking your stubbly grey beard,
as the colours and warmth of the day
drained back to the sea.

Were you thinking of the war;
of friends, or loves lost? Was it memories
of loading the bombers, and later, of seeing
Dresden and what those bombs had done -
were these what took you from us?
Or were you thinking
of your beloved Egypt?
Maybe you were you simply wishing
you were somewhere else,
or perhaps even,
wishing that you’d never have to leave?

You used to say you were
waiting for the sun to sizzle
on the sea and flash green,
but even when we were tiny
we knew it was something else.

In those moments we knew
you had left us.
Perhaps you were preparing yourself.
Perhaps you were preparing us